


The Tenth

by torturingtaylor (itzaimster)



Category: Hanson
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 09:00:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itzaimster/pseuds/torturingtaylor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taylor finds himself the focus of a psychopath and her boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tenth

**Author's Note:**

> Another story pulled from the vault. I believe this was written around 2003. Thanks once again to jiangyin for keeping it :)

"They were all so very beautiful in their lives…" she drawled.

"But somehow, did they not become absolutely perfect in death?" her partner smiled, his arms around her pale and delicate shoulders in a loving gesture.

"More than perfect. Thankyou."

She leant up and kissed his neck.

"And thankyou for saving him until last."

"Well I knew he was special," he replied softly, "do you want to do it today?"

She trailed her fingertips across a page in a scrapbook covered in newspaper and magazine cut outs surrounding the disappearance of ten very different people.

"Yes. I believe we will."

She closed the scrapbook and slid it from her lap onto the floor near their feet.

As she stood she felt him about to follow her before she placed her hand on his chest to push him back down.

"I need some time alone for a moment."

Frowning a little, he leant back into the couch again.

"Don’t worry, I won’t be long," she smiled, before making her way toward the door to the left.

As she stepped through the door into complete darkness, she turned and locked it before flicking the light switch. On the only bed in the room lay their tenth and last captive, still alive.

He lay on a double sized bed covered in bloodstained white sheets. His wrists were tied separately to the main bed rails with cloth, his ankles together and to the bed end, and he was blindfolded.

He twitched slightly as the light came on and he barely heard her light footsteps make their way toward the bed. She stopped at the end and leant on the railing.

"So… you’re the sensitive musician," she said softly.

He just gulped nervously, barely able to comprehend what was happening.

Eyeing him carefully, she began to make her way around to his right.

"You’re quite different from the others," she drawled, before sitting on the edge of the bed near his torso.

"At least your initial reaction. They all seemed to panic."

"What do you want?" he pulled himself together enough to ask.

She smiled slightly, then leant over and trailed her fingertips down his left cheek.

"It won’t be long now, I assure you."

"Until what?" he shivered, goosebumps appearing up his arms.

When there was no response, he twisted his left wrist awkwardly.

"What am I doing here?" he tried again, "I need… I can’t…"

"Hush," he felt her place her fingertips over his lips carefully, "you are but one of many to come here. It will be over for you shortly. Others may come, they may not. But you remain our soul focus for now."

"You’re going to kill me," he realised, his voice quite obviously shaking.

"What else would we do with you?"

"A million things," he turned his head away, "but why… why is it taking so long?"

He froze as he felt her move, shifting her bodyweight forward onto the bed slightly.

"I asked for some time alone with you," she said finally, "I do admire you. Though you are admired by many."

"I’m not the only one."

"Ah, but not on the same scale. Nor in the same fashion."

"But why does all this matter to you? And why are you stalling with what I know is going to happen anyway?"

She was silent for a moment, before he felt her lean over him.

"Because I was the one who wished for you. Because I wanted this moment alone with you. I wanted to see you tremble. I wanted to see you bleed…"

He suddenly felt a sharp sting across his stomach and had to stop himself from letting out an exclamation, knowing what it must have been.

He bit his lip.

"And I wanted to see fear in your beautiful blue eyes."

As she said this, she’d leant over and begun to remove his blindfold. As the cloth fell away, he kept his eyes firmly closed.

"Why do you refuse to look at me?" she asked curiously.

"If I don’t see your face I can’t identify you. You can let me go," he insisted.

She took note of his irregular breathing pattern before beginning to trail her fingers across his bare stomach, her fingertips catching some of the blood that had welled to the surface through the last cut.

"But you’re going to die anyway," she insisted softly as he cringed, "you’re the tenth to come and the pattern must be complete."

"You can’t find someone else?" he almost whined.

"No. It is only you that I want."

"Why?" he demanded, finally turning his head to look at her.

She froze for a moment as their eyes locked, before he twisted his body a little to pull on his ankles.

"A reason that words cannot express."

At that moment out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something not quite right with the bed sheets he’d been positioned on.

They were covered in dark red and brown splatters, particularly around his shoulders.

His eyes widening, he struggled to sit up further but to no avail.

"What the… what… how… where did…" he stuttered.

"Hush," the girl insisted, clasping her right hand over his mouth, black strands of hair falling across her bare shoulder as she did so.

"Do you not wish to savour the moment? We do not want to disturb him."

He tried to ask ‘who’, but could only mumble incoherently.

Glancing toward the door, she removed her hand from his jaw.

"Who?" he finally managed to ask, his voice shaking.

"My one and only lover."

He frowned again, recognising the lyric.

"What do you want from me?" he shook his head, a myriad of emotions coursing through him.

"I simply wanted some time alone with a man I have looked up to for so many years," she insisted softly, "but collectively… we simply want your life."

"Please don’t do this," he shook his head, his voice cracking as reality hit hard.

"I’m sorry…"

"No you’re not!" his voice rose, "if you were you wouldn’t be doing this. You wouldn’t let him do this. You’d try and stop it. If you truly are sorry then do something about it. Please!"

The girl just sat in silence for what to him seemed hours.

The silence was broken by a sharp knock on the door, making only him jump.

"Please," he pleaded again, staring into her eyes.

The girl just stared at him with cold, hard eyes, before there was another impatient knock.

"Come in," she called, before sliding from the bed and taking a few steps back.

His eyes shot to the doorway as a man entered the room. The very sight of him sent a shiver down his spine. The man was of medium build, quite tall, had many scars and piercings, and was very heavily tattooed. He was carrying a large chef’s knife in his right hand, a determined look scrawled across his face.

"Oh God…" he almost whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut.

The man made his way over to the left side of the bed, holding the knife down by his side. The girl stepped out of his way, almost as if he’d telepathically ordered her to. As he stood by the bed, he gazed down the length of his captive’s body.

"You cut him," he noted.

"Only a little," came her voice from the other side of the room, "but please tell him to open his eyes. They’re absolutely magical."

The man hesitated a moment, before raising the knife.

"Open your eyes," he ordered.

He waited a moment, as if to contemplate disobeying the man. But remembering the large knife he’d seen in his hand he somehow managed to force his eyelids to flutter open.

His gaze hit the ceiling and remained locked there.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the man raise the knife and lay the blade at an angle across his exposed and vulnerable throat.

"What, is your name?" he seemed to demand.

"Taylor Hanson," he stuttered when he pulled himself together enough.

"Occupation?"

"Musician," he blinked, then licked his lips nervously.

He cringed as he felt the blade slip a little.

"And what number are you?"

"T-ten?"

"Eleven," the girl’s voice came in correction, as a sudden gunshot rang out.

Taylor yelped as he felt the blade cut into his skin as the man’s body fell across his torso, blood spilling from the bullet wound in his skull.

He forced his eyes closed again as he attempted to stop himself from hyperventilating.

He heard her footsteps approach, before he felt the man’s body being drug from its position on the bed and down onto the floor. Biting his lip, he tried to imagine – just for a moment – that he was somewhere else.

He was soon awoken from this fantasy by the girl sitting beside him again.

"Why did you…?"

"I wanted more time alone with you than he was willing to give. It’s ok now."

He flinched as she trailed her fingertips up his bare stomach causing his whole body to shiver.

"What do you want?" he asked softly after a moment.

"We’ve already had this discussion."

"But I don’t understand. If you like me, as you clearly do, why do you want to kill me? Why do you want this to end? Why do you want to…"

He cut himself off as her hand covered his mouth and he opened his eyes again.

"You really don’t understand, do you?" she whispered, almost sadly.

When she removed her hand and looked away, he was lost for words. As she slid from the bed, he noticed the body of the other man on the floor beside it, face down and sprawled out.

"If you’re going to kill me…" he began softly, "can I at least talk to my family again? One last time?"

He watched her carefully as she turned back to him with absolutely no expression on her face.

"They don’t matter now," she said simply, "all that matters is you, and me, and us, and now."

He gulped again, not taking his eyes away from her for an instant.

After quite some time of standing idly, she returned to his side. This time as she sat down, she slowly tilted his head back via the tip of the small black pistol she wielded at his chin.

"You quiver an awful lot," she noted.

"I’m scared," he admitted.

"Of death?"

"Perhaps."

As she carefully removed the gun, she watched in interest as his breathing heavied.

"You’re rather captivating," she said suddenly, leaning away from the bed.

He jumped as he heard the pistol drop, followed by the clatter of the knife the other man had held in his grasp until just a moment ago.

When she returned to his range of vision, he saw that she held it easily in her right hand.

"You’re going to do it now?" he looked into her eyes again, almost pleadingly.

"It needs to be done."

"But now?"

"What does it matter?" she seemed confused, "we can continue this on the other side. Don’t worry, I can make it painless."

He opened his mouth as if to say something before his gaze fell on the knife once more. As she placed it across the base of his throat in a similar way as before, she leant over him to gently kiss his forehead.

"I’ll see you soon," she promised.

The solitary quote was followed by a second, loud gunshot.

"Taylor Hanson?" came a soft but stern voice.

He cringed as the girl squashed what he was sure were broken ribs.

"Y-yes?" he stammered, "help…?"

When the officer came into his line of sight, he couldn’t help but break into tears.

"How did you find me?" he almost gasped as the girl’s body was pulled from his.

"We had a little help from your brothers who followed you here. When they heard the gunshot they called us."

As the officer began to loosen his bonds, he glanced toward the wall to his right.

Hanging without a frame was a chart with twelve squares.

Each square held a photo of a person he didn’t know.

He was the tenth.

Eleven and twelve, the bodies on the floor.


End file.
